Storm

The thunder roared
The thunder clapped
The wind it blew
And branches snapped

The lightning lit
The sky ablaze
With the cold blue
Of lonely days.

Ode to the Wind

O’ wild wind which comes my way
Wand’ring past me everyday
Wisping past avoiding me
Roaming, whirling ever free.
How I envy you for this
For your liberty and bliss.
Fill my lungs with your sweet scent
Let my senses thus augment.
Lift me up and help me fly
This to me do not deny.
Never could I be as you
But I dare your flight pursue.
Through I may be scared of height
In you, wind, I see a light
Making all that disappear
For that light, I’ll persevere.
Although I know that I will fail
Still I try and bid you sail
Even if it’s without me
The wild wind needs to be free.

Lost in This Translation

Lost in this translation
Of my own thoughts,
It is difficult
To part with the Baedeker
My mother gave me.

Democracy

Bodies strewn across the land
Here’s a leg, an eye, a hand.
All around there’s poverty,
Unemployment, loss of property.
Funding cuts in education
Making a vulnerable nation.
People charged for expression
Of opinion – that’s oppression.
Is this your democracy?
Not to me. No. not for me.

Something that will represent
The people in their government.
Something granting all a voice
Who decide to make that choice
To speak up and be heard
By verbal means or written word.
It’s what I want, it’s what I meant
When I first pitched that tent.
That is my democracy.
And you’ll be hearing more from me.

Rotation of the Earth

The beating drums
Ring in my walls
And through the building
In the halls.

There’s no escaping
The pulsating sounds
Ringing in my ears
Or the vibrations through the ground

I think I’d like to dance
But I cannot
I am disoriented
By the movement of the earth
As its rotation
Exponentially increases

And so I stand on both feet
Trying to keep my balance
Trying not to fall
As the sphere
Tries to shake me off
And the clouds pull me towards them.

The Medieval Cossack

Inspired by an Untitled piece by Evgenii Rukhin

The Medieval Cossack
Weeps for his poor soul,
As the revolution
Swallows his Бог* whole.
The Industrial Era
Has taken all his saints;
Yet the Medieval Cossack
Clings onto his faith.
He walks through a land fruitful
Singing the folksong
Of his love, which is faithful,
Eternal and lives on.
And so Medieval Cossack
Walks through the swampy woods
That cover his dear Russia
As his tears the land floods.

*God

You Are My Opium

You are my opium
You make everything alright
Your soothing voice lulls me to sleep
When insomnia strikes.

You never turn your back to me
Always listen to my drivel.
You make things right.
Make things make sense
And ease my troubled mind.

But then again when I’m not with you
I feel like shit.
I need some more.
You always give me more.

And once again I’m in my dream.
My lovely little dream

And you’re with me
And I’m happy.
While you read me like a book.

You take all my insults
You don’t really mind
Cause you know I love you
You know I can’t live without you

You bitch!
You manipulative bitch!
Rock me to sleep.

You are my opium.

No Care For Humanity

No care for humanity that’s insanity.
What’s to be done about all this calamity?
Its nothing more than simple vanity
Its vanity, a world so obsessed with themselves,
They disregard, each other by puttin love on the shelves
what the HELL is going on, this planets a disaster
A snowball effect of destruction, rollin faster and faster,
Gettin bigger and bigger, towards the bottom of the hill
Teaching our children how to rape, steal and kill.
And if you’re getting sick of it, you can always take a pill.
But though you might feel better, you’re giving up free will.
And if you give up your will, then what’s left?
You’re leavin yourself completely bereft.
Cause the absence of will just means apathy
Letting the external write your life story.
So if you don’t give a fuck about mankind
Then I think I might have to remind
you - that as a human – you’re part of it too
And this shit affects you through and through.

Spring Was Just a Dream

In the secular ambience
Of a summer afternoon
I see the memories of my life –
Fragments irretrievably lost
Within the depths of winter snows,
Under the autumn leaves –
And spring was just a dream.

Untitled

So my good friend Alvin edited this poem for me cause he's an amazing person and all. Anyhow, I took his edit and edited it again myself... this is what became of it!

I’m here, staying and celebrating!
Thought that I would disappear,
A train pulling away from the station.
Become that small speck
Before finally vanishing
From this world.
But I’m not
No, I’m not

My train is only pulling around the corner
Before it returns to this station.
Just a shuttle to the desert and back
To my New Brunswick.

You can wave your white handkerchief
As I pull around the corner;
To me it’s white for purity
Not the known defeat.

I am reborn with you
Like the moth leaving the stale cocoon.
Drying in the summer morning, its wings
Yes, it may fly into the burning flame
of a candle or fluorescent light.
But that’s okay;
A hard cocoon is uncomfortable and lonely.
And burning only means you tried
To find some never-ending warmth.

And you are so good -
So good to me.

Untitled

I wrote this one about two weeks ago. Now that I'm in the desert... I thought I thought I'd start up my blog with the peice that means most to me right now.

I'm here!
I'm staying!
I'm celebrating!
I thought that I would disappear
Like a train pulling away from the station.
That I would become that small speck
Before finally vanishing from this world
But I'm not!
No, I'm not!
I'm here, and I'm staying, and I'm celebrating
Cause my train is only pulling around the corner
Before returning to this station.
Its just a shuttle to the desert and back
To my New Brunswick.
For this I'm celebrating.
You can wave your white handkercheif
As I pull around the corner
But to me its white for purity - not the known defeat.
I am reborn with you
Like the moth leaving the state cacoon
And drying in the summer morning
Its wings.
Yes, it may fly into the burning flame
Of a candle or florescent light -
But thats okay.
A hard cacoon is uncomfortable and lonely
And burning only means you tried
To find some neverending warmth.
And you are so good -
So good to me -